


Do you know that, too?

by Veruca_Cruz



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bisexual John Watson, Communication, Confessions, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Healing, In denial about season 4, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, No baby, Post Mary, Post-Season/Series 03, little angst with a happy ending, no Magnusson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-24 21:57:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10750608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veruca_Cruz/pseuds/Veruca_Cruz
Summary: John has a guest, Sherlock has an epiphany, and both finally talk to each other.





	1. Epiphany

**Author's Note:**

> The story is inspired by the poem of Hermann Hesse "Kennst Du das auch?". English is not my mother tongue so the translation might be off. The complete fic is written, has 4 chapters and will be updated every other day (aka when I find the time between work, family, etc.). I have no beta, all errors are mine. 
> 
>  
> 
> Do you know that, too, that sometimes,  
> when you are feeling high,  
> During a party, in a cheery hall,  
> You suddenly need to be silent and have to go?
> 
> Then you lay down on your bed without finding sleep  
> Like someone with a sudden heart ache;  
> Joy and Laughter are gone like smoke  
> And you are crying, crying uncontrollably – Do you know that, too?  
> \- Hermann Hesse
> 
> Original:
> 
> Kennst du das auch, daß manchesmal  
> Inmitten einer lauten Lust,  
> Bei einem Fest, in einem frohen Saal,  
> Du plötzlich schweigen und hinweggehn mußt?  
> Dann legst du dich aufs Lager ohne Schlaf  
> Wie Einer, den ein plötzlich Herzweh traf;  
> Lust und Gelächter ist verstiebt wie Rauch,  
> Du weinst, weinst ohne Halt - Kennst du das auch?

Sherlock was happy. It was a warm spring evening, and he was walking back from Bart’s Hospital to Baker Street. He finished his experiments early. After three sets of test on smokers’ lungs, his hypothesis was proven without a doubt and the current case could be closed. He decided to walk back home, picking up some dinner on the way - Thai - for John and him. There was a light spring in his step, which was an obvious sign for his good mood. Of course, only people knowing him well enough would be able to see that and deduce his current state of mind. 

His good mood, Sherlock mused, was a constant companion for some weeks now, but he was acknowledging it just now. He faltered a little bit in his steps as he realized that he felt truly light and unburdened. Things were okay, finally. After years of sorrows, running away, lies and deceit, hurried chases, heartache and sleepless nights he felt hopeful and happy.

During his time away from Baker Street dismantling Moriarty’s network and after coming back he had to deal with being alone, John’s feeling of betrayal for abandoning and lying to him, John’s marriage and his removal from Baker street, Mary’s past, John’s feelings of betrayal after Mary’s past backfired on them and a lot of repressed and mostly toxic emotions. 

They both had some individual therapy to deal with all the horrible stuff that happened. Firstly, Sherlock thought it superfluous, but his therapist was surprisingly competent. He made him see the value of emotions, the need to accept them and how self-care was not selfish but essential. This led to more introspective thoughts and the realization that he was finally in a good place and happy.

John moved back to Baker Street six months ago. They started to rebuild and strengthen their consulting business and their friendship. Sherlock made a conscious effort for more communication and less maniac behaviour. John channelled his anger into sports and work. Back were the easy companionship, exciting cases and slow evenings with take-away food and bad telly. One year ago, he never had dared to hope, to have all that back again and he was deeply thankful. 

Arriving at the front door at 221b Baker Street, he eagerly opened the door. He picked up the mailings from the floor, shimmied out of his coat to put it on the hanger while still holding the bag with the fragrant food. 

Taking the first step on the stairs, the same moment as he wanted to shout for John to lay the table, he hard it. A giggle. A woman, two floors up, in John’s room, Sherlock’s mind automatically provided. A low baritone snicker followed, unmistakably John. Sherlock froze mid-movement. Only now he acknowledged the unfamiliar coat on the hanger, the vanilla-lemon scented perfume in the air, the low sounds of intimacy – sighs, squeaks, rustles. Suddenly, he felt the world crashing in on him. The happiness from moments ago evaporated and he struggled for the next breath. 

His mind went blank, but his body moved on auto-pilot, fleeing, taking him upstairs, sneaking into the living room, dumping the bag with food on the coffee table, and leading him into his bedroom. Closing the door, he leaned against it. Breathing hard, he slid slowly down to the floor, head hanging between his knees. He felt hot and he shoved his suit jacket off and kicked his shoes away. Sherlock sat for a few minutes on the hard wooden floor, not able to find a clear thought. Slowly, he was able to take stock of his body: heart pumping fast, nausea, hands cold. Panic attack? He took some deep breaths, got up on unsteady feet and trudged to the bed. He felt tired and confused. Laying down on his back, staring at the ceiling he struggled his thoughts into some order.

Fact: John had female company upstairs with strong evidence that they were having sex. Conclusion: John started dating again to find a new girlfriend. 

Sherlock felt his panic rising again. Remembering his therapist’s words he didn’t shove it back, but he allowed it, trying to feel for the roots of the panic, all the while breathing deeply. Danger of a new Mary? Jealousy? No, he thought. After some moments he could name a cause that felt right. The panic stemmed from the fear of John walking away, the fear of being alone again and losing the happiness, he found so recently. But there was more. The root of the panic attack was a longing for things he never dared to hope for but now surged through him. He wanted closer companionship. He was envious.

Sherlock scolded himself. Even in his mind, he didn’t allow himself to think further. But again, his therapist had dared him in his sessions to examine his feelings, to name them and accept them. He took another deep breath. What did he want? Companionship? He had that. But in truth he also wanted a physical closeness to John. He longed for the warmth, radiating from him, while they sat on the sofa or side by side in a cab. He wanted to be enveloped in his arms. Did he want to be cuddled? Something in his chest tightened as the answer was a clear yes. Sex? If it meant closeness, giggles, warmth - again everything in him screamed yes. Sherlock seldom sought out physical intimacy in his life; most of the time he just tolerated it during some of his earlier acquaintances. When the longing for intimacy become too much, he sometimes visited a club for a quick release, but he usually felt hollow afterwards. 

His mind replayed the few seconds from the stairs, the intimate sounds he heard and he felt heavy and sad. The realization hit him: He would never experience this: a lazy, fun and unhurried intimacy with a well-known partner. He felt lonely. His breathing became a little bit more ragged and a tear slid down his temple into his hair. Soon others joined.

He lifted his arm to his face and buried his eyes into his elbow. Silent sobs escaped him, but instead of hating himself for his weakness, like he would have done some months ago, he let himself mourn something, that he never had and never would have but now craved. The first time in his life he felt, there was something more to sentiment. Sometime later he slipped into an exhausted sleep.


	2. Simplicity

John was happy. After three years of not being happy, it felt brilliant. He was back at Baker Street, he had cases with Sherlock, and a very flexible part time job that allowed said cases at crazy hours. And he finally had sex again. After the disaster with Mary - assassin on the run, trying to hide behind a new identity - Sherlock’s return, a lot of shouting, alcohol and smashing things he felt close to normal again. The constant grief and vigilance was no longer there and he could concentrate more on his needs again. Two month ago, in a sitting with his therapist he had realized something that cemented his current status of well-being. He wanted to be in Baker Street with Sherlock as long as possible and share his life with him. And that meant he would no longer pursue relationships that would take him away. Therefore he had given up dating. Or better, he would not take up dating again.

After moving back to Baker Street he started running and attended a self-defence course. With regular exercise his sleeping habits became more stable and reducing the alcohol intake did wonders for his health. So it was no surprise, that he felt a need for sex. He always liked sex; the intimacy, the exercise and the excitement. He was an adventurous and a fun companion in bed, and he just missed it. He felt secure in his relationship with Sherlock, receiving everything he needed emotionally: He loved the slow evenings with food, telly and violin music, the crazy debates, the adrenaline filled cases, the inside jokes, the occasional intimate looks and the laughter. He would even go so far and admit that he loved his flatmate. But they had no physical intimacy, except an occasional pat on the back or a steadying hand when needed. He sometimes wondered how Sherlock thought about sex, but after all the time he assumed that sex was just boring and a non-issue for Sherlock, except as a motivator for crime. And he had too much respect for Sherlock to just hit on him and endanger the friendship they had. After all, he once stated, that he was not interested, and except perhaps with ‘The Women’ sex was never a topic to be discussed. He had never seen him dating or flirting outside the cases. John assumed that in Sherlock's brain there was no room for sex, or he just had a very low libido.

To not endanger the current status quo with Sherlock, he therefore now wanted no-strings-attached sex. It could be called shallow, but that was his simple solution to his current dilemma. John had never picky regarding his partners. It earned him his army nickname. His army mate Bill somehow had stumbled upon his conquests regularly during his army time. Embarrassingly often he had found him with pants down shagging the personnel of the complete Commonwealth Army, men and women alike. And after some time he had started to make fun of the variety in partners. Especially after he had found him in a seldom used storage room with a transgender nurse, he started joking about John exploring nature, and something about two genders not being enough. Unfortunately, he had been overheard, but Bill saved John's honour (and probably the nurse’s career) by mumbling something about two continents aren't enough and John needing three continents. Somehow the nickname got a different meaning, and neither John nor Bill had corrected anyone about it. ‘Three Continent Watson’ was born, and whenever John was called this way, Bill's face turned brightly red and he fought to keep the giggles in. During his Army time, he sometimes thought himself a slag but then he lived fast and it felt good. 

After being wounded and sent home he had a low self-esteem, felt tired and unattractive. He tried a more conservative approach to sex. He hadn't had the energy left to fight prejudices that came with being an invalid and bisexual. His father was homophobic to the core, and the coming out of his sister was mildly put explosive. He put pressure on John, to keep away from queers. At that time John still wanted to please his father and wanted to prove that he was ‘normal’. John overcompensated by having a string of girlfriends. But to be honest, even then, he kissed and shagged not only girls - so much for being straight. He talked at length with his therapist about his sexuality, and in the end he accepted is sexual self: He liked sex, he didn't mind the gender of his partner and as long as all parties give consent, everything is fine. And therefore he decided to forget the conservative approach and give in into his sensual and sexual nature again.

Thanks to modern technology finding a fuck buddy had gotten easier and requests and preferences could be stated more honestly. Three weeks ago he opened up an account on a dating/shagging site and started searching for a willing and easy going partner. First he was a little bit sceptical, if he would be successful, but being honest and open seemed to be the ticket. His profile stated his bisexuality, age as a non-issue, openness to kinks and his wish for no strings attached. Anne was the first who messaged him. John expected the first response from some guy, because the more open sex platforms were mostly frequented by male clients, but well, everything was fine. He met her for coffee the next day. She was from abroad, 47 years old, fed up with relationships, had to do business in London for the next six months and was looking for entertainment or as she phrased it: a willing dick. Their expectations fit and in the end she took him to her lodgings and they had some satisfying sex. He liked her direct approach on telling him what turned her on and she liked his practical knowledge - he was a doctor after all. He still got other requests, but he put his profile on hold. While he found it flattering, that so many people responded, one affair was enough at the moment. 

Anne was all he needed for that purpose and after their first encounter, they exchanged their phone numbers and agreed, that a sole shagging relationship would be fantastic. Today was the fourth time they met and shagged, but the first time at Baker Street. John only took her to Baker Street, because he knew Sherlock was at Barts for an experiment which usually lasted long into the evening. No need to introduce her to Sherlock and explain awkwardly his new resolutions. He thought the arrangement was perfect. All was well. 

After Anne left - no sleep-overs, no good-bye kisses by the door per mutual agreement - John grabbed some change of clothes and wandered down to the bathroom, unconcerned about his nudity. Spotting the bag with take away, still lukewarm, he knew instantly that Sherlock was back. Somehow he felt guilty, like having an illicit affair. He shook his head – first things first: shower and getting dressed. He snuck into the bathroom and started the shower.


	3. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the first part of the talking :-) Still no beta, errors are all mine. Comments and Kudos are appreciated.

Sherlock startled awake hearing the shower come to life. He was groggy, but the panic was no longer there, replaced by a heavy feeling in his chest. He felt gritty and unsocial, but staying in his room would be childish. A glance at his phone told him, that is was half past eight. He would shower as soon as John was done, and then eat some dinner. Perhaps John and his date would join him. 

When he heard John finishing and leaving the bathroom he stripped his clothes, grabbed a fresh suit, shirt and socks (more intimidating, than a bathrobe) and went through the en-suite door.

“Sherlock?” John enquired through the door, just as Sherlock started the shower.

“I'll join you in a few minutes,” Sherlock answered. “I brought some dinner.” 

“I saw, thanks.” John said. “I lay the table.” 

Sherlock rushed his showering a little bit, due to one part being hungry, and the other being curious about John's new girlfriend. While he already hated her, he still wanted to know more about John's new conquest. It was foolish to think, John would give up dating forever. 

After finishing and stepping through the kitchen into the living room, he steeled himself for some idle chatter. However he was surprised by a running telly, and the food laid out for two on the coffee table. John sat on the couch, opening a bottle of white wine. 

“I thought some wine would be nice. Food is still a little bit warm,” John said,gaze fixed on the TV show in front of him. After no reaction from Sherlock, his eyes wandered to Sherlock. He stood frozen in the door way. John took in his attire, raising an eyebrow. “Do we have a case? Do we need to go out again?”

Sherlock startled. “No, I just thought, you had a guest.”

John blushed. Of course Sherlock knew about his late afternoon visitor. “Um, no, she already left.” He diverted his glance at the table. “Food's getting cold,” he added and started loading his plate. 

Sherlock took off his suit jacket and joined John on the couch. They ate in silence, only the television kept it from becoming uncomfortable. 

The whole time, Sherlock's thoughts whirled. This was an unusual behaviour. Never before had something similar happened. Usually John's girlfriends stayed till morning and he offered them breakfast. Or John had sex elsewhere and came home late. Somewhere in his mind an old behaviour lecture of John popped up, where he told Sherlock, that throwing out a lover after sex was a ‘bit not good’.

Out of the blue, John muted the television. “Listen,” he started. “I don’t know if I should tell you this, but I need to get rid of something. It’s not like I can hide anything from you anyway, I just want to avoid any misunderstandings.”

John put his almost empty plate on the table, picked up his wine glass and settled back into the cushions, gaze fixed on the moving pictures of the telly. 

“How shall I put this?” He turned his gaze to Sherlock. “There won’t be any girlfriends anymore.” 

Sherlock frowned. John pressed on. “I am done with girlfriends. The whole disaster with Mary taught me, that its not what I want or need. I don’t want domesticity, a house in the suburbs, a 9 to 5 job or a family with 1.4 children. I am happy here. I have everything I need here,“ he faltered a little bit. “What you probably witnessed when you came home,” he hesitated a little bit, stealing a short glance at Sherlock, “is not a new girlfriend. It is just an arrangement for casual sex.” He lowered his eyes down to the wine glass in his hand, contemplating the last sip.

“While I don’t need a partner in a classic sense, I sometimes need a hug and some intimacy. It keeps me grounded. And sex is an easy way for getting that. Crazy thing is: it is easier getting laid than getting hugged.” A sad chuckle escaped him. John looked back up at Sherlock, who listen to him with complete attention.

“Sometimes I envy you,” John continued. “I have never seen you with anyone, except for cases. And I wish I could detach myself from my body like you. I don’t know… choose to become asexual. But it doesn’t work like that.” John drank the last sip of his wine. “I will try to keep everything discrete and I don’t want to bother you with them. I’ll try to meet outside of 221b.” He let out a deep breath. “Well that’s it. No need to comment. I just wanted to let you know.” John straightened up from the cushions. “Time to do the dishes,” he said, grabbing his plate and some empty containers and vanished into the kitchen. 

Sherlock sat, blinking at the empty space, John left. Thoughts were running through his head from ‘done with girlfriends’ to ‘casual sex’ and ‘becoming asexual’. He didn’t know if he should comment John’s statement or keep silent. After a few moments, John returning for a second trip, he cleared his throat. 

“John,” he said, directed at him, waiting for John to turn his eyes on him. “Thanks,” he halted, “for telling me. You didn’t have to. And you don’t have to keep it outside Baker Street. I won’t interfere…”

“Sherlock,” John interrupted, “you are not the only reason, why I want to keep it discreet. I also don’t want Mrs. Hudson talking; and I don’t want any of my paramours getting attached. Keeping the distance is a good method for that. And it is also good for me to keep things separated.” 

“I don’t understand,” Sherlock murmured confused. John never was so dispassionate about his partners, bordering on rude. 

John took another deep breath. “Well, if we are having this discussion, I need another glass of wine.” He picked up the bottle of wine, poured a generous amount and settled back on his previous place. After a few moments his eyes fixed again on Sherlock. 

“Are you sure, you want to hear about my epiphany about sex?” John asked jokingly taking a big gulp of wine. Sherlock nodded. 

John took a deep breath and released it. “Before my injury in Afghanistan, I was very,” John halted, searching for a good word, “open with sex. I had a lot of casual relationships and very few serious ones. It was a lot of fun and I loved it. But part of the lifestyle I lived wasn’t exactly healthy. Some of the things I did could have injured me or even damaged my career. And perhaps some things I did just to spite my father and his conservative world view. With the injury of my shoulder and the pain in my leg, I somehow fell into a depression. It felt like a punishment for the things I did, the lifestyle I led. And I probably never really recovered till the last few months. I realized lately that intimacy and sex are important to me. But I made some rules to keep healthy and sane. For example: one partner at a time, with a clear understanding of what everyone expects; no dangerous situations that could lead to injury or deseases; and if possible: I try to keep away from toxic partners like cheaters, addicts or people with extreme kinks.”

Sherlock was intrigued. He obviously misjudged a big part of John's past. But if John's tale was true, then he had been in deep denial about some facets of his life and only recently resolved those. He never shown such liberal views before and they never had talked this open about sex.

“The thing is,” John continued, “I love being in Baker Street, solving cases, chasing killers and hanging out with you. I will not risk that again. But I also want some intimacy. Celibacy is not for me. Believe me, I tried. I just get grumpy.” 

“But,” Sherlock started, “I don’t want to keep you from being happy, having a family ...”

“Sherlock,” John interrupted him. “Maybe I need to say this differently.” He nervously looked around the room but his gaze wandered back to Sherlock. “I am happy. I want to grow old like this, with you. This is it. This is what I want.” He took a gulp of wine. His hand trembled slighly. Sherlock knew, that John voiced more, than he initially wanted to say. 

Without conscious thought Sherlock said: “And I want to grow old with you.” 

Suddenly, Sherlock felt like a big lump of stone loosened in his chest. John beside him turned toward him and grinned. Sherlock grinned back. Soon they started to chuckle, elated and both glad for having said what has been on their mind for some months.


	4. Alignment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Chapter, and a big one. And the one with the sex in it.  
> Again not betaed or brit-picked. Comments are appreciated.

After a few moments Sherlock grabbed the bottle of wine. “If it is confession time then I need this, too,” and topped his glass.

“Why do you need alcohol, when I am confessing here?” asked John amused. “I am spilling all my secrets about my sordid past, not you.”

Sherlock just grinned at him and also refilled John's glass. 

“I still don't understand, why you think affairs are the solution. And why the specific rules?” asked Sherlock.

John scratched his eyebrow. “Okay, perhaps I need to be cruder. Before we met, I was, for lack of a better word, a slag. I don't want to get there again. Regular sex: yes. Danger: no. I am lucky that I don't have any STIs or any scars from some of the stuff I did. And furthermore, I don't want to shove that aspect of my life onto you. You are not into sex, and I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked disbelieving at John. “You think, Mycroft was right? You think I am a virgin?” Sherlock let his head fall back onto the back of the sofa and chuckled.

John shifted in his seat. “No, see. It is none of my business. It is just you are so aloof, every time sex comes up.”

This time Sherlock took a big sip of the wine. “Just to get this straight, despite what my dear brother implies: I had and have sex. I am no virgin, whatever that means for a gay man.” Sherlock cast a shy glance toward John. 

“No judgement from me here. Gay sister. Remember?” John said. “I sensed a 'but' at the end of your sentence.“

“But like you,” Sherlock continued, “I did some unsavoury things while using and I am glad that I don't have to endure any lasting effects of my endeavours. Since I quit drugs, sex is no longer that appealing. Sometimes I go out for an occasional grope and a blow job at a club, but my brain is very selective, what's attractive. Someone being dull is the worst mood killer that can happen to me. But I am neither celibate nor asexual. I just don't engage often.”

John stared at Sherlock. He never noticed when Sherlock left to pull someone. But on the other hand: he was always well dressed and had odd hours and therefore could pick up a partner anytime. 

“Full blown sex became more of a hassle than fun. With new people there are too many deductions in my head, and I am not able to focus on the act itself. But be assured: whatever you do, you can't make me uncomfortable or shock me,” Sherlock concluded. 

“Okay, but the other reasons still stand, why I don't want to entertain anyone here. I just don't trust myself sometimes. I don't want to get caught up so deep again. Perhaps it's my kind of drug that I want to avoid. Before Afghanistan, I dabbled into everything. Name a kink and I probably did it.”

Sherlock's eyebrow rose in curiosity. “Anal sex?” he prompted.

John huffed. “Of course.”

“Threesomes?” 

“Yep. In every possible combination.” 

“Bondage?” 

“Even full hard-core BDSM, mostly as dom,” John confirmed. “And role play, gang bangs, public sex, dabbled into medical kinks, asphyxiation, blood play (and I am a doctor, for goods sake), even water sports. I did every position of the Kama Sutra with a yoga instructor, twice. Shall I go on? I had sex with women, men, transgender, with every body type, with people from every continent and I once substituted as a living dildo for a lesbian couple, because they were curious. Is that enough for the beginning?” John drew a deep breath. 

Sherlock chuckled. His eyes roaming over John's body, trying to deduce even a miniscule hint about his past. “Well, there is always something.” 

John shook his head, slightly embarrassed. “I think confession time should be over.” He moved to stand up. 

“John, wait. I apologise.” Sherlock said. “I didn't want to put you on the spot. I just was curious. You always seemed so proper. You were denying instantly, when someone implicated, you are gay.”

John took a deep breath. “Well, I am not. I think it's a reflex, because of the history with my dad. And in the army, there are lot of homophobes. I just hate the gossip. I am bi, if you want a label.”

Sherlock gazed into his glass of wine. His fingers fiddled around the stem of the glass, his feet restless. His mind was already connecting all the new information he gathered. John slept with men, John had thought him to be asexual or celibate, John wanted to stay. Was there hope? But even if John wanted men, it could be that he didn't want him. He felt out of his depth. 

John knew that Sherlock was thinking hard, trying to figure something out. “What are you thinking about?” John asked, disturbing his thoughts. 

Sherlock looked up, his face insecure. “Nothing. Sorry, just... Not important.” He took a sip of his wine, trying to fix his gaze onto the telly. 

John mustered him intensely. “Please, tell me.” He knew that something was nagging at Sherlock. “If you can't tell me now, after everything we discussed, when else?”

Sherlock put his glass on the table and rose from the couch. He strode toward his violin on the window sill, fiddling with the bow. Could he ask for a real date? Could he ask for a chance? But what if there was none. John had already forgiven him for two years of unnecessary grief. Could he tell him, that he wanted more? What happened, if the answer was no. Would their friendship survive?

“Sherlock?” John asked softly. “You are scaring me.”

“Sorry. Just a thought I am afraid to voice. It may be considered a bit not good.”

“Why do you think it is a 'bit not good'?”

“I might offend or pressure you. It might not appeal to you. You could feel annoyed or disgusted or...” he started to ramble. 

“Sherlock,” John interrupted. “Stop quoting the thesaurus.”

Sherlock quietened. He was distressed. He was never good at relationships or voicing his emotions. 

John regarded him for a moment, a small smile growing on his lips. “I think, I know, what this is about.”

John placed his wine glass on the tablel and joined Sherlock at the window standing directly in front of him. “I am making a deduction now. If I am wrong, call me an idiot, give me a lecture about how I see but don’t observe and then forgive my blunder. But if I am right, then feel free to join, okay?”

Sherlock still looked unsure, but nodded. With that, John closed the gap between them and embraced Sherlock's waist. He settled his other hand lightly on his cheek tracing his cheekbones with his thumb. Looking into Sherlock’s eyes he slowly raised his face giving him all the time to break free. After a few moments Sherlock bent towards him and their lips met. It was an innocent and light kiss, but John felt, how the stiffness in Sherlock's posture melted away. Sherlock's arms circled John and returned the embrace. Their lips parted for a second, seeking confirmation in each other’s eyes. Their second kiss held more heat, lips parted and tongues engaged.

After some time of soft kisses, Sherlock broke the kiss and rested his forehead against John's, looking into his eyes. “You are brilliant,” he whispered. 

John chuckled. “Usually it’s not the kissing, that earns me the compliments.” Then he sobered. “I might have gotten this right, but you still need to tell me what you want. I don't want to push, where you don't want to go.”

Sherlock smiled “I find myself willing to go very far with you. Perhaps not everything at once, but I am very curious, as you should know. And it seem, there is a lot you can show me.”

“Well, then I propose a thorough snogging session with a lot of groping, if you are amenable. Nothing crazy. And then we will see, what comes up.”

“Innuendo, John?”

“No. Just a reminder, that everything that is going to happen will be safe, sane and consensual. I want to do this right. ”

“Then let's start our snogging session in my bedroom - comfortable and safe.”

John grinned, and pulled Sherlock along through the kitchen toward the master bedroom. 

Upon entering, he steered Sherlock to sit on the bed and stepped between his legs. He cradled Sherlock’s face between his palms, bending down to plant a short kiss on his lips. 

“Listen; if we do this, I want us to be exclusive. I want to be your partner in every sense of the word. I want to keep what we have, but I want to be intimate with you. I want to kiss you, touch you and make you come. If I come on too strong, I need you to tell me to slow down or stop.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pulled John closer. “Don't coddle me. As I told you, I am no blushing virgin. I know what I want, and with whom.”

“I never said you were.” With that he captured Sherlock's lips again, giving him a deep kiss and putting in all the effort to make it as filthy and erotic as possible. 

Long moments later, with some effort Sherlock broke the kiss. Both were breathing harder. Sherlock looked slightly dazed and his pupils were dilated. “For the record: I am clean. No STIs. And I know, you are, too. So condoms are optional.”

“I don't mind condoms, but I like the options that open up, when you don't have to use them,” John said with a twinkle in his eyes. He found the buttons of Sherlock's dress shirt and undid them slowly. Taking the shirt off, he pushed Sherlock backward onto the bed and crawled atop him. Sitting above him he pulled off his own T-Shirt and tossed it away. He kissed Sherlock again, enjoying the responses to his ministrations. Sherlock's hands roamed over his body. John couldn't resist to ground his hips toward Sherlock's and finding an answering bulge.

“You don't know, how often I thought about you like this. A lot of secret fantasies, where I am allowed to please you. I want to know, what you like, what you find exciting, what I can do for you, with you, to you,” John whispered. He heard how Sherlock's breath hitched. 

He wanted to make him squirm, gasping for breath and stop thinking. Sliding downward, he took his time and kissed the long neck, pale shoulders and paid special attention to the perky nipples. Sherlock's skin was flushed and hot to his touch. He swiftly unbuttened the trousers, encouraging Sherlock to lift his hips and sliding them, his pants and socks off in one go. Standing in front of the bed, John took a moment to appreciate what lay before him. Long legs, lean torso and a straining erection nestled in dark curls. 

Sherlock settled on his elbows, mustering John. His heated eyes fixed on John's jeans with a clear order to remove them. John chuckled and shimmied out of them. Another sterner glance from Sherlock prompted him to remove his pants as well, which were barely holding his erection.

John joined Sherlock eagerly on the bed again. Catching the other man's lips, he pulled their bodies together enjoying the intimate skin on skin feeling. He felt almost overwhelmed. If he hadn't had sex some mere hours ago, he probably could explode right there. He already felt some moisture gathering at the tip of his prick. 

John broke the kiss with a small grin. “Do you have any lube?”

“Upper drawer.” Sherlock answered with a look toward his bedside table. 

John sat up and leaned over to reach across the bed and retrieve a small tube. He poured some on his hand and warmed it a little bit. He draw near Sherlock again and grasped both their erections in his hand. Sherlock let out a groan and pushed into the hand out of reflex. The friction was delicious. John locked eyes with Sherlock. Both found an easy rhythm relishing the sliding of their bodies against each other, joined at the hip by a hand. Small whimpers soon turned into gaps and groans. John changed the rhythm of his hand randomly, denying them a fast orgasm. Sherlock felt like going insane, clutching at Johns arm and back. The intimacy and the feeling of rightness was overwhelming them soon enough. They peaked into a satisfying orgasm and slumped against each other. 

A small laughter escaped them both. John released them and wiped his hand against the bed sheets. Sherlock pulled John closer, not minding the stickiness between them. They enjoyed their nowfound closeness, and were both relieved, that the important bits were said today. Both were happy, sated, home. Finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my mind, the Yoga intructer was Lena, from the fan fic Classic The great sex olympics of Baker street by XistentialAngst. In another time line John probably got lucky and got another go with her.
> 
> Now I go back to my other unfinished/unpublished fic. Lots of angst, BAMF John, BAMF Lestrade, and Sherlock being... Sherlock.


End file.
